


If Your Name is Dave Strider, You Are an Insufferable Prick

by ahomine



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Humanstuck, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 13:28:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahomine/pseuds/ahomine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was undoubtedly more than one occurrence when someone had thought that you were an insufferable prick. No one had dared to tell you to your face though (except John and Rose who most certainly enjoyed telling you that you are, indeed, an insufferable prick). There's also the fact that scary and unusual rumors surrounded you, and let's face it, no one wanted to mess with you if the rumors happened to be true. Until now of course.</p>
<p>Your name is Dave Strider and you've just been called an insufferable prick by an insufferable prick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Your Name is Dave Strider, You Are an Insufferable Prick

**Author's Note:**

> dsjfh this is my first time writing for homestuck, and i still haven't finished reading the comic yet hurr hurr. i'm only on act four atm, so apologies if i get any characters wrong! constructive criticism is always appreciated! enjoy c:

Today just happened to be one of those ridiculously hot days, and it was slowly becoming apparent to you that it probably wasn't one of the best days to be in your Bro's old, rundown truck that didn't even have a working air conditioner. No matter how many times you asked him to get it fixed, he just ignored you. You hope he regrets that decision. It was probably a bad idea to go on a road trip. Not to mention the fact that it's probably ten degrees hotter inside the truck than you would have liked than it was outside, and to be quite honest, it wasn't a very pleasant thought to have. It was only an exaggeration though (probably), and it was probably only three degrees hotter inside than it was outside. Still, it made you seem more like a coolkid for being able to withstand such an intense amount of heat if you said it was ten degrees hotter, even though the heat was extremely unbearable and you were just about ready to dump a bottle of water over your head. You didn't, of course, because that would be unironic, and, not to mention, a waste of water. You do, however, decide to inform your not-as-cool-and-incredibly-dorky-friend, John Egbert, that it just so happened to be ten degrees hotter inside the truck than it was outside. After messaging him on Pesterchum, you placed the phone on your lap, waiting for a reply.

You glanced at the digital clock that was right above the radio in the truck while your fingers drummed against the arm rest, making a random beat. You noticed that you just happened to be three hours late for school, give or take a few minutes. That meant John was in school at the moment, and it would probably be a while before he actually sent you a message back. You pressed your lips into a thin line. The highly exaggerated rumours (although, some weren't rumours at all, and were the complete truth), you expect, would probably escalate in number. For a while now, rumours about you were circulating around the school, and to be quite honest, you weren't really sure when it started. All you knew that the rumours were loosely based off of your life, but some weren't even close to being true. Well, you supposed you would deal with the rumours later if it ever happened to become a big deal. Not that it would ever be a big deal, because nothing is ever a big deal to you.

You resisted the urge to fan yourself, because fanning yourself meant showing weakness under the unforgiving heat and looking extremely uncool, and that just wasn't how you rolled. Not to mention that your Bro would have noticed, and if he would have noticed, he would have tilted his head ever so slightly at you, raise his eyebrows above his anime shades, and the corner of his lip would curl downward. That would have meant that Bro was severely disappointed in you. Instead, you opted to wipe the sweat that gathered beneath your blond bangs with the back of your hand. Wiping the sweat on your pants, you rolled down the window of your Bro's rusty orange truck, letting in a burst of hot, humid air. You wrinkled your nose ever so slightly in disgust; to your chagrin, there was hardly any change in the air from rolling down the window.

Your phone vibrated in your lap, indicating that John had messaged you back. Licking your dry, cracked lips, you picked up the phone from your lap and read the message. 

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 11:04 –- 

TG: dude the inside of bros truck is like ten degrees hotter than what it is outside  
EB: dave, i'm pretty sure the inside of your truck isn't ten degrees hotter inside than it is outside.  
EB: it has to be like, at the most 2 or 3 degrees hotter.

You rolled your eyes, even though no one could see them behind your oversized aviators (which, by the way, were totally ironic).

TG: excuse you  
TG: are you in this truck  
TG: no i didnt think so  
TG: not to mention theres like no air conditioning in this truck either  
TG: its like a fucking sauna TG: on planet fucking mars  
EB: ouch.  
EB: that must really suck.  
TG: yeah it does and its making my shades stick to my face  
EB: dude, you're still wearing them?  
EB: i got you those ages ago!  
TG: theyre for ironic purposes  
EB: dude they're not even that ironic.  
TG: for your information egbert my shades are totally ironic  
EB: whatever you say dave.  
EB: i’m going to assume its one of those coolkid things.  
EB: by the way, why aren't you in school?  
TG: i didnt feel like going  
TG: why  
EB: there's this new transfer kid in our class.  
EB: i think you should come to school and say hi!  
TG: nah im good  
TG: but ill probably go anyway just to get away from this heat  
EB: oh that's cool! i'll see you then!  
TG: yep  
TG: later egbert

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 11:37 -- 

You exited out of Pesterchum and tapped your fingers against your thigh. You watched the scenery fly past your window as you fiddled with your seat belt. This was one of your typical road trips. You and Bro just drove around as far as you wanted until you nearly run out of gas, only stopping for food and potty breaks. "Bro." He grunted to let you know he was listening. "Could you drive me to school?" He took his eyes off the road for a second to glance at you, his eyebrows slightly raised, before looking back.

"What for, lil' man? Don't you like skipping school?"

You shrugged. "School has air conditioning." Or at least, it better. He didn't say anything for several moments, and you furrowed your brows slightly, wondering if he was going to deem your reasoning as bullshit and not let you go. Several minutes past, and it turns out Bro was just waiting for an opening to make a U-turn, and you let yourself relax.

* * *

Bro had finally reached your school, and he drove his car where the school's parking lot was. "You need me to come with?" You shake your head 'no,' as you opened the car door.

"Nah, I'll just take the detention, or whatever it is they dish out at me."

He nodded, and motioned for you to shut the door. He tilted his head in goodbye, and drove away. You watched the rusty orange truck drive away for a while before pivoting on your heel and heading towards the main office. Pressing the silver button on the intercom, you waited for them to buzz you in. After they buzzed you in, you sauntered into the office, and one of the secretaries raised an eyebrow at you. The secretary had blonde hair tied up into a bun— a perfect bun, you realized— who was rather busty. She wore a white, frilly blouse; her elbow resting on the desk she was sitting at. She had ruby red lipstick on that contrasted greatly with her pale face, yet you couldn't seem to picture her with any other kind of colour. Simple eyeliner completed the look, and you wondered what she looked like outside of school. She must be really pretty. Realizing you weren't going to say anything, she cleared her throat.

"Did you need anything?" she asked. 

"Well, I could go for a nice soda right now."

She rolled her eyes at your joke. "Are you coming back from a doctor's appointment or something?"

"No, I'm just really late."

"That's for sure," she snorted. The room went silent except for the sounds of keyboards clacking away, and the unmistakable sound of pen gliding along paper. "What's your name?"

"Dave Strider."

"Dave... Strider," she repeated. "And what room are you going to?"

"B26."

"...Okay then. Here you go." She handed you a gray slip that read, **Hall Pass** across it in blocky letters. "And this—" the sound of paper tearing filled the room "—is your detention slip. You have it for two hours." You took the pink slip as well and shoved it in your pocket. You dipped your head, letting her know you were leaving, and exited the main office. Placing your hands in your pockets, you walked to your classroom, appreciating the fact that the school had air conditioning. It felt good to not have the feeling of sweat dripping down your back.

After walking through several hallways, climbing up the steps, and making a left, you finally reached your classroom. You adjusted your shades a little bit, and knocked on the door, tapping your foot on the ground. It took several moments before a girl with ginger hair opened the door for you, her face showing disgust as soon as she noticed who you were. She quickly scurried back to her seat, talking to her friends. No doubt she was talking about you as her eyes kept glancing at you every few seconds, giving you nasty looks. You ran your tongue against your lips, averting your eyes— not like she can notice you staring at her with your shades on— as you walked towards the teacher.

Your teacher held out his hand and you thrust the pass to him, walking away briskly. You noticed John who seemed quite immersed in doing his work that was no doubt from the night before. He always found it hard to do homework at home, unlike you who had troubles even doing it. A seat was open next to him, and the corner of your mouth lifted upward. You could always count on him to save you a seat. Walking towards him, your ears focused on the sounds of the soles of your shoes hitting the tiles. John looked up at you from his work momentarily when he heard your chair scraping against the tile. 

"Hey, Dave!" he said cheerfully.

"Sup."

"How many hours of detention did you get slapped with?"

"Just two."

"Wow, that sucks. I'll lend you one of my joke books if you want to pass the time with them."

"Nah, keep 'em. I'm pretty sure they're just as corny and lame as your own jokes, if not worse. And at least the room will have air conditioning compared to Bro's truck." You take a glance at the paper he was scribbling on. "Last night's homework?"

"Nope! I did it earlier. This is just a note I'm writing to Karkat." John paused momentarily to look at you and give a goofy grin that showed his buck teeth.

"To who?"

"Oh right! You didn't meet him yet. Duh. Well, he might be in your next period class..." He tapped the end of the pencil against the desk, in thought. "Anyway, he's the new transfer kid I was telling you about. He's actually pretty cool, although with a bit of a temper. You should write a note to him too! You know, saying ‘hi’ or whatever."

You shake your head. "I'd rather stick to making sick beats." 

John shrugs, and continues writing his note. "Suit yourself, but you're gonna miss out!" After a few more seconds, John folded up the note, putting it carefully in his pocket. He patted it after it was put away, and you wondered what this Karkat person was like. Still, you doubt he would be any different from the rest of the kids here who stayed away from you because of the rumours, unlike your best bro, John; he was friends with practically everyone. He was easy to get along with, and just down right friendly. It was hard to believe anyone would hate him.

Still, you weren't going to be bitter about it. Not that you were ever bitter about it. You were glad John turned out to be a great guy— even if he was an incredibly lame kid who enjoyed terrible movies, pranks, magic tricks, and stuff who couldn't possibly match up to your own standards— because you didn't have to worry about him so much as bros would do.

"Class is going to end soon!" John said, pointing at the clock. Your eyes followed where his finger pointed, and as it turns out, class was going to end soon in about five minutes or so.

"Just because I'm wearing these shades does not mean that I can't see, Egbert."

"Right, I was just telling you." He starts shoving his notebook and pencils into his backpack, and you could see the mess inside his backpack. Papers were wrinkled and crumpled from being shoved in there, the corners of folders frayed from being handled too much. Pencils stuck out from various spots inside, and you wondered how John was able to find anything in here.

You and John chatted for the last five minutes, him gushing about the new magic trick he learned. “Do you want to see?” he asked, excitement gleaming in his eyes. You shake your head.

“Not really. Magic tricks are lame, dude.” John furrowed his brows, his mouth turning into a small pout.

“No, they’re not! They’re actually really cool!”

“And tell me, dear Egdork, what is your definition of cool?”

“Definitely not you,” he retorted.

“I am the epitome of cool, for your information.”

“That’s like saying that your aviators that you wear all the time are ironic.”

“For the last time, Egbert, my shades are completely ironic.”

“Ironically stupid.”

“Still ironic, nonetheless.”

“If my magic tricks aren’t cool, then your shades aren’t ironic.”

“That’s not how things work, Egbert.”

“They do if your name is John Egbert.”

“Unfortunately for you, my name isn’t John Egbert.”

“Fortunately for me, that’s my name, so it works.” The corners of your mouth tilt down slightly, and you grabbed his worksheet when he wasn’t looking. You grab a pen on his desk and you scribble out his name and put **_Zoosmell Pooplord_**.

“That’s not what it says on your worksheet.” John quickly snatched his paper back, shock clearly evident on his face. 

“Dave, you’re such an insufferable prick!”

“The one and only.” John bats at your head, and since you feel slightly responsible, you let him hit you. His fist collided with your head gently, messing up your hair, and slightly knocking your shades askew. “Satisifed? I let you hit the great Dave Strider.” You fix your aviators back onto your face, and you use your fingers to comb through your blond hair.

“I guess you could say that,” John replies, giving you one of his trademark goofy grins.

You roll your eyes behind your aviators, but you can’t help but smile as well. The bell rings, and you slung your backpack onto your shoulder. John follows you out the door. “Later, Egbert,” you say.

“Bye Dave! See you at lunch!” You nod in acknowledgement, and you watch John turn right. You pivot on your heel and turn left, heading to English. Maybe the new kid will be in English with you.

Turning right, you run your finger against the metal lockers. You tug on a random lock and another one a few lockers down. After passing several doors, you finally reach your classroom. Your teacher smiles at you as you pass her. She always stood at the door, greeting everyone with a smile and dimples the size of craters. You nod your head at her, acknowledging the smile. You sure as hell weren’t going to smile back, keeping the poker face you’ve been infamously known for, but alas, you would feel rather guilty if you were to offend her feelings by not doing anything in response. She didn’t do anything to you, and to be quite honest, you appreciated the fact that she smiled at you instead of scorning you.

It was a nice change in pace to get it from someone other than John, Jade and the occasional Rose.

You head toward your seat which happened to be occupied by another body. It was obviously a male with shaggy hair that was blackish grey. He was sitting in a way so that his back was towards you, and it looked like he was staring outside the window. He was wearing a dark gray turtleneck sweater (and that sweater was dorkier than **_John_**. It’s pretty hard to be dorkier than John) and grey pants that were several shades lighter than his turtleneck. His back was hunched over, his fingers were in his hair, twirling a strand of hair.

You raise an eyebrow; that’s weird, everyone knew that was your seat and tended to stay away from it. “The kid in my seat,” you addressed as you walked up to the desk.

The male turned around, wide eyed. You didn’t expect him to get so spooked from just addressing him, but the emotion was gone so quickly that you doubted your own eyes. His eyes that were sort of a golden, yellow colour (which was a weird eye colour, but hey, you shouldn’t be talking either) and it sort of resembled honey. His skin seemed to be devoid of any blemishes, unlike other teens around here.

In a harsh tone that you didn’t think was possible for someone with a stature like him, he said, “What do **_you_** want?”

“My seat.” He glanced down at the chair he was sitting in and then back at you.

“I don’t think this seat has your name on it, fucktard,” he retorted, a frown etched in his face.

He did not just call you a fucktard. Oh, hell no.

“I wasn’t aware that we were still in kindergarten.”

“Oh, I’m not in kindergarten, but you are, considering your stupid brain can’t seem to comprehend that **_I’m_** sitting here.”

“You act like I care.”

“What makes you think I’m going to get out of this goddamn chair? Because you told me to? You, asswipe, are way out of your mind if you think that.”

If you weren’t a Strider, you probably would have lost your cool by now.

“I don’t care if you’re new here, kid, just get outta my seat and we’ll never have to talk to each other ever again, and I won’t see your ugly mug around, and you won’t have to see my fucking fine face.”

“I highly doubt the fact that you have an attractive face. If anything, it makes me want to spew my stomach contents into the eggshell white toilet bowl. Unless you take that as a compliment, in which case, you are as fucking stupid as I thought you were.”

“My face makes all the girls swoon, because who can resist any of this Strider charm, hm?”

“Me, for one thing, and apparently everyone else in this room—perhaps in this entire schools—seeing as no one is swooning, especially the girls, dipshit.”

“They’re just containing their excitement. As for your face… I’m sure we can do something about… that. Maybe.”

“For your information, my face is fine and doesn’t need any of your damn rearranging for it to be acceptable by your terms which, I’m sure, need definite work.”

“If you’re done bashing my terms which are so ironic and cool that you can’t even possibly begin to comprehend, get out of my fucking seat.”

“Goddammit, if it gets your panties in such a fucking damn twist, maybe you should have busted your ass to get here quicker than me!” the male raged, getting to his feet and tossing his backpack to the vacant seat two rows away from the left of you. “You fucking insufferable prick!”

You flash him the middle finger; it wasn’t like he wasn’t one either, and you couldn’t believe he had the audacity to call you that. You glanced at the pencil he left on your desk, and pursed your lips slightly.

Your name is Dave Strider and you've just been called an insufferable prick by an insufferable prick.


End file.
